Coffee on a Sunday
by ZekksGoddess
Summary: There were nights when Earl kept a clear head, when he wanted to be a family, and he would settle onto the couch with his boys and pull out a book, old and worn with dog-eared pages, and he'd read until they'd both nodded off and carry them each off to bed. Even in the joy of these quiet evenings, he had to bite back his bitterness. Week 10: The Kinsellas
1. Week 1: WadeZoe

**Coffee on a Sunday**

Author's Note: Random title for some random drabbles. I borrowed the drabble challenge from the JC boards- the object is to post a one hundred word drabble, no more, no less, based on each of the five prompts each week. This will probably be a lot of Wade/Zoe with some other characters thrown in, too. Please enjoy! :)

**Week One: Zoe/Wade**

**Beginnings**

His infuriating smirk lingered in her mind, provoking a never-ending chorus of _why am I so stupid?_ Refusing to show her the fuse box, and oh, _everyone_ knows Old Man Jackson memorized the eye chart. And now, there was no way he was going to let her forget her very wine induced lack of judgment (why_ am I so stupid?)_. She'd love to tell him just where to stick that smug, cocky attitude of his.

As if getting stuck in Bluebell wasn't bad enough already, _of course _she'd get stuck with the arrogant, generic beer swilling, electricity-stealing buffoon next door.

**Middles**

She couldn't help but smile and roll her eyes at his lopsided grin, his obvious enthusiasm.

Heat did not equal throwing caution to the wind. There was no such thing as a 'free pass'. In the real world, actions have consequences. Clearly, he didn't live in the real world, but a world of his own- probably full of generic beer- without caution or consequence.

She knew better.

Her heart beat a little faster, watching him. She studied the curve of his crooked smile, remembered the last time she'd felt that smile against her lips.

This was ridiculous. She knew better.

**Ends**

She had no idea.

The flash of concern across his expression, the way his arm darted out when his father- _his father!- _threatened to topple over the edge, all hiding behind an irritated eye roll, or one of those trademark lopsided grins.

She remembered the story she'd shared, used as an argument- and _with him, of all people_- a vision of her own mother after a few too many – _or a lot too many- _cocktails.

She studied his face. His arms were tense, his jaw hard, working with the melody, the rest of the crowd singing along, casual and nonchalant.

** First**

This was ridiculous. She was stuck hundreds of miles from home, living in a house- _more like a shack_- that would have made her mother cry, eating _grits _and _everything_ fried, and now it was hardly 8:30 and she had no power.

Her life had spiraled so far out of control that she was going to be denied modern convenience? No chance.

Especially when the gatehouse was lit up like a Christmas tree, music- _noise-_ pouring out the windows.

His lopsided grin, tousled hair and casual manner fueled her mood. This country cowboy's charm would _not_ be working on her.

**Last**

She smothered a rising sense of guilt in her chest, focused on the cracks in the wallpaper, forcing her thoughts away from the quickening of her heartbeat as she daydreamed about his lips against hers, of his warm arms cradling her close.

She didn't allow herself these daydreams; the idea of them was absurd. _Him_, of all people…

And yet…there was the way he stayed with her through the night, the way he never failed to sing his father down from precarious rooftops each month. Had she written him off? What else was there about him that she didn't know?


	2. Week 2: Lemon

_"Sometimes I think about you._  
><em> Wonder if you're out there somewhere thinkin' about me.<em>  
><em> And would you even recognize,<em>  
><em> The woman that your little girl has grown up to be.<em>**"**- Kellie Pickler

**Week Two: Lemon**

**Hours**

_3:00_. It doesn't take three hours to run to the store for milk. Magnolia's cryin' for you and you promised you'd braid my hair for AnnaBeth's party later.

_7:00_. Mama, hurry home. Daddy's actin' real strange- he's real quiet, pacin' and he keeps checkin' the window that looks over the driveway.

_11:00_Daddy sent me off to bed, and I tucked Magnolia in for you, too. I snuck downstairs and caught him sittin' with his head in his hands. What's going on, Mama? I fell asleep there, leanin' against the railing, waitin' for the sound of your car pullin' in.

**Days**

I missed AnnaBeth's party, and school today. Daddy offered to take me, said I really should go, but I stayed home to take care of Magnolia. She's come down with somethin' and Daddy doesn't know just the right way to spoon her soup, and rub her forehead like you did.

Sometimes he goes out for a drive, asks me to watch Magnolia for a while, and doesn't come back for an hour or two. I think maybe he's out there lookin' for you, but my heart just freezes over in my chest everytime the car pulls out of the driveway.

**Weeks**

Daddy sat me down today, and told me he didn't think you were comin' back. I didn't understand- I thought somethin' bad had happened, that you'd been hurt, lyin' up in a hospital somewhere, and Daddy's eyes filled up all over again.

I still don't understand, Mama. I'm sorry I said those hateful things that time you sent me to my room- I didn't mean any of it, I swear.

Magnolia's still not talkin' yet. She's stopped even makin' those silly noises since you've been gone. Daddy says it's 'cause she always had us Breeland women to talk for her.

**Months **

You should hear her, mama. I've been workin' with her for a while now, and she's finally talkin'. She has the cutest little voice, all high pitched, like a little bird. She calls herself 'Magola'. 'Magola wants this, Magola wants that'. Her hair's growin' out in the sweetest little curls.

Sometimes I show her your picture, and I tell her who you are. Most of the time she pays no attention, and I can't get her to say mama, but sometimes she snuggles into my lap and falls asleep against my chest.

We're the Breeland women now, Magnolia and I.

**Years**

Twelve years, mama. Do you wonder what your girls look like now? Do you wonder if we think of you? Do you ever wish you'd been around to hear Magnolia's first words (she said 'Lemon'), or to see me rise to head of the Belles, just like you? Do you wish you were here now, when your first baby is gettin' ready to be married? I have so many questions, but I guess I'll never know for sure, will I, mama? Just like I'll never know why you left like that.

It doesn't take twelve years to run for milk.


	3. Week 3: WadeZoe

(Author's Note: The Tom mentioned in 'White' is Tom Long from the show- he apparently has a crush on Zoe, and writes her love poems that can be found on the Bluebell website- check the cw Hart of Dixie site for the link! :) )

**Week Three: Zoe/Wade**

**Red**

She could only roll her eyes at the way heads turned when that old red Chevy came cruising through town. One flash of that crooked smile from underneath those aviators could send a chorus of schoolgirl-worthy giggles up and down the sidewalk.

She'd guessed at his reputation as a small town Casanova almost the moment she'd met him, and yet she still had to fight the off surge of irritation when she witnessed it firsthand.

Worse, was when he flashed that grin at her. Her heart skipped, irritation flared, leaving her both smiling back and rolling her eyes over again.

**Grey**

A mischievous spark always seemed to dance around in those grey eyes of his. She had to admit, he had a certain kind of boyish charm. In the most completely immature and irritating, way, of course. When he wasn't being an insufferable pain in the ass. It was something about his casual manner, his easy laugh and his free, often playful, attitude. But don't get the wrong idea- that crooked little grin of his and that carefree, Casanova thing he had going on didn't have any effect on her, not in the least. And neither did those glistening grey eyes.

**White**

For a slick city doctor that stuck out like a sore thumb, she sure was small enough to disappear into a crowd pretty easy. He found her – or rather, she found him- about an hour later, when a small hand seized his wrist. Her expression begged him to save her from Tom's latest poetry recitation.

"Your Achilles' Heel." He noted, nodding with a grin toward her glass.

"Never mind. Go away," she answered, leaning in close to speak, her smile sweet and the smell of white wine heavy on her breath.

But he noticed she didn't object when he stayed.

**Black**

He was not a man to be caught unawares. But when she walked through that door wearin' that little black get-up, he found himself at a loss.

True, he'd told her where he'd be, but he'd never thought she'd actually come. And yet here she was, long hair flowin' down her shoulders, her dark eyes focused on him, conscious of every movement he made.

He noticed how eyes followed her as she set up at a stool and leaned toward him across the bar and struggled to collect himself and hoping she didn't notice.

"Um, can I get you somethin'?"

**Blue**

For a Blue State girl, he thought she was actually pretty conservative. Folks in town wouldn't agree, but they hadn't heard that tiny, almost childlike voice explainin' how she just wasn't that kind of girl, or seen the thrill on her face when she finally worked herself up enough courage to jump in the water.

Sure, they'd seen her paradin' around town in those little shorts of hers, wreckin' floats and thrown' attitude, but they hadn't seen the cautious way she dipped her toes in the water, the way those big dark eyes had begged him to stay until mornin'…


	4. Week 4: Zoe Hart, Mr Hart

_"He can't remember the times that he thought_,  
><em>Does my daddy love me?<em>  
><em>Probably not.<em>  
><em>But that didn't stop him from wishing that he did<em>  
><em>Didn't keep from wanting or worshiping him<em>

_He guesses he saw him about once a year_  
><em>He could still feel the way he felt<em>,  
><em>Standing in tears<em>.  
><em>Stretching his arms out as far as they'd go,<em>  
><em>Whispering daddy, I want you to know,<em>

_I love you this much and I'm waiting on you_,  
><em>To make up your mind, do you love me too?" - Jimmy Wayne<em>

**Week Four: Zoe Hart, Mr. Hart**

**Friends**

He bought her first doctor's bag before she was old enough to remember. It was a yellow Fisher Price set, with a bulky plastic stethoscope inside. He was a busy man, and he was away a lot- even when he could be home, there were a lot of demands on his time. But nothing seemed to please him more than seeing her in that stethoscope, so she paraded around in it for months, much to her mother's exasperation. When her mother hid her precious stethoscope, her hero retrieved it for her, reassuring her that he had his little buddy's back.

**Enemies**

It wasn't always easy. He was a great- no, an _incredible_- doctor, and pride always swelled in her chest whenever she heard his talents praised, but he was gone a lot. She always begged for the chance to go with him, but on the off chance she did, spent most of her time staring at a hotel television screen than with him. But he demanded dedication. As she got older, this strict adherence to pursuing medicine yielded many conflicts, but she fought to rise above them, to make him proud, even to surpass the level of commitment he so admired.

**Lovers**

Even when she was as young as nine, he'd shared his passion for medicine with her. While most fathers read their daughters fairytales and fables, he pored over medical texts while she fell asleep curled up beside him. Once, at a medical convention they'd snuck off together into the hospital, and together, dissected a frog, his large hands over her small ones, gently guiding the scalpel's movement. Her mother was furious afterward, but they just shared a look and laughed. Even her mother's anger couldn't take away that high, that exhilaration. She was convinced nothing could ever ruin that moment.

**Family**

She had to catch onto reality quickly. She realized nothing is permanent, that family doesn't necessarily mean forever. So she clung to their connection, clung to their bond as father and daughter, clung to their shared passion in medicine. She spent countless nights falling asleep with the phone in her hand, waiting for a call that never came. She knew his number by heart, but their calls were usually clipped short. He was a busy man, after all and he'd taught her that medicine was a priority, so she collected herself and chased her dream the way he'd taught her.

**Strangers**

Weeks had passed without hearing from him, and she wasn't sure how to pick up the phone. She'd never hesitated before, but now it was different. Now, she knew the reason behind his reluctance to hear from her, the reason all their calls had been cut short, and the reason for the rarity in his visits. All her life she'd been desperately seeking the attention, the love, of a man who wasn't even her father. To her, he was still Daddy, her hero- but what could you possibly say to a man who so clearly didn't want to love you?


	5. Week 5: Brick

**Week Five: Brick**

**Smell**

You left behind your favorite sweater- the blue one the girls and I gave you for Christmas last year. You always said it was your favorite, but I guess we all say a lot of things, don't we, Alice?

Lemon thinks I don't know, but I found that sweater tucked under her pillow once. Your perfume still clings to it, with a staying power you apparently lacked, and if you close your eyes it's like you're still here, and she clings to that old sweater every night, and I let her, because I don't know the right words for this.

**Sound**

You always hummed and sang while you worked, every activity marked with a tune. Do you remember how, without realizing it, you'd get me to tappin' my feet and hummin' along, and I'd take your hand and we'd dance together, right there in the kitchen, little Lemon gigglin' and clappin' along?

Now, there's only silence, tense and claustrophobic- even Magnolia's constant garbled words seem muted, and Lemon's chatter faded away, like we're all waiting for…for something to fill your absence, your silence.

I never realized how your voice had become the soundtrack to my every day until it was gone.

**Touch**

Dazed and half-asleep, I roll toward you and reach out to wrap my arms around your thin frame and find only empty air and cold sheets beside me.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I think of your gentle kiss, of the warmth of your soft skin against mine, the way you always curled into me during the night and stole the covers. I always joked that you hogged the bed, that I never had room to breathe- but now my breath seems to echo, loud and painful in my ears, and the bed seems to stretch on forever, empty.

**Taste**

Magnolia still doesn't sleep through the night –she cries out sometimes, her little voice hoarse and frightened, her little face damp with tears. By the time I make it down the hall, our Lemon is already at her side, rockin' her just the way you did, and my heart nearly stops.

I send her back to bed, and take Magnolia into my arms and kiss her little cheeks, and the salty taste of her tears lingers on my tongue. Her eyes get heavy, and I tuck her back in, and it hits me that she doesn't look for you anymore.

**Sight**

Magnolia's not the only one with nightmares.

Every day for weeks, I'd see you there, like you always were, just to blink my eyes and see you fade away right in front of me. I'd reach out for you, start to call your name, just to remember there was no one there.

Every night for weeks, I dreamed about you leavin'- like an old broken record, I watched your car pull out of the drive again and again. Watched as you slid into the driver's side, just waitin' for you to turn around, for you to at least look back.


	6. Week 6: Harley

**Week Six: Harley**

**Water**

He supposed it was the picturesque beaches, open-air cafes, steep cliffs and vast expanse of glittering water surrounding them that did it. It was magical, like a dream, she'd said, and he had to agree. It had to be something pretty powerful that had brought them together.

It was an adventure, at the very least- they were teetering on the unknown, with only each other to hold on to as they dipped their toes into the Mediterranean and fed each other baklava, watching the sun rise and sink over the crystalline ocean, thousands of miles from anything they'd ever known.

**Fire**

She was uptight, opinionated, and a little demanding- and yet, it made a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. A grin he certainly tried to hide, though his frequent failure brought about a look in her eyes that burned through him before she, herself dissolved into fitful laughter.

They came from different worlds, completely different lives, and yet, there was a flicker of something there, something that had bonded them, something in sharing the Greek experience together. He didn't know what it was she seemed to see in him, but he wouldn't trade this moment for the world.

**Earth**

When the trip ended, it was like they were returning to earth after spending time in a place completely set apart, a world that had belonged to them alone, filled with sandy beaches, easy laughter and warm touches.

But now, it was back to 'the real world' as she said. He was pained to learn that she was engaged, that she would be married in only a few months time. She was anything but indecisive, and she'd made up her mind- there was no changing it, so he held her one last time, and they shared one last kiss goodbye.

**Air**

Normally, he enjoyed flying- he delighted in watching the clouds pass by, in noting the colors of the sky. But this time, he'd spent his flight thinking, more on edge than he normally ever felt, and fingering the well-worn edges of a photograph. His foot tapped nervously on the seat in before him, and he triple-checked his pocket for the address.

"Oh, isn't she cute," the woman next to him interjected into his thoughts, gesturing toward the photo in his hands. "Is she yours?"

He smiled down at the photograph, glad for the interruption.

"Yeah, yeah, that's my little Zoe."

**Spirit**

Her appearance didn't speak strongly of either of them- her dark features, her small stature- but he clearly saw Candice's spirit and fire reflected in her eyes. Like her mother, she was obviously opinionated, and anything but indecisive, and he couldn't help but let a small smile creep into his expression.

Like with Candice, but perhaps even worse, he felt as though his heart had been pressed into a vice, squashed and distorted until it hung like a heavy knot in his chest, thudding painfully against his ribs as she turned away. And like before, he simply let her go.


	7. Week 7: WadeZoe

_Oh it's gonna catch up with us one day, _  
><em>Careless things we do. - Chico Banks<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Week Seven: WadeZoe**

**Breakfast**

He could hardly stop the grin that threatened the corners of his mouth when he heard the door open and shut behind him, catching a glimpse of the doctor, still in her pajamas, hair slipping from a disheveled ponytail and rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she pulled herself onto a stool, pleading for caffeine. She showed up the same time as every morning, like clockwork, always delighted to discover he'd made more waffles than he could ever hope to tackle on his own.

Of course, he didn't do it intentionally- and he will deny it if you ask.

**Lunch**

There was a table available at the Rammer Jammer most days, but she'd grown used to having lunch at the bar. It seemed a little less pathetic when you were dining alone, and besides, at least she could count on having someone to talk to, which wasn't always a sure thing in this town- and it couldn't hurt if that someone was also a bartender, with copious amounts of alcohol just a stone's throw away.

Of course, its simply for the sake of convenience, really and nothing to do with the bartender himself, and she'll deny it if you ask.

**Dinner**

She swears she can feel his eyes on her from the bar, but when she dares to sneak a glance he's cleaning glasses, washing the counter, and she convinces herself she's just getting paranoid. Convinces herself that she's imagining the tension looming in the air between them when she walks up to the bar to order more drinks. That the only thing she recognizes in his gaze is indifference, and nothing more.

Next time, she thinks, maybe Fancie's is a better date idea. It has nothing to do with Wade of course, and she will deny it if you ask.

**Food**

"What's in it for me, Doc?" he asks, his voice low in her ear, close- _so close_- enough to feel the heat of his breath.

She rolls her eyes, pushing roughly- _maybe more roughly than necessary- _past him, grabbing for the pot. But he's there, too, and his hand closes over hers, gently loosening her grip on the handle. She has the vague notion that he's explaining why it's not the right pot, but the warmth of his skin on hers startles her and she pulls away, insisting she must have been delirious when she asked for his cooking assistance.

** Drink**

He rolls his eyes while she goes on, insisting she was fine to walk home, mocking Lemon in a performance that was actually quite comical, and cursing him for making her trade her wine glass for a Solo cup. It was all he could do to resist an 'I told you so' when the cup slipped from her grasp, and she frowned at the wine now spreading across the ground. But the warmth of her weight leaning against him, her small hands trying to keep her balance against his chest are distracting and he can't seem to find the words.

* * *

><p>Reviews make me smile. Let me know what you think? :)<p> 


	8. Week 8: Young Wade

**Week Eight: Young Wade**

**Broken**

Is he broken? He's not sure. He feels himself going through the motions, taking it day by day, but honestly, everything feels like an out-of-body experience. He doesn't remember getting breakfast, or getting Jesse off to school. He doesn't remember much about ditching school to find a job. He doesn't remember hiding his dad's keys, and waking up early to leave them somewhere inconspicuous. He doesn't remember shooing Jesse off to bed, tucking him in early every night to spare him the sight of their father's drunken ravings.

He doesn't remember keeping himself going. He just knew he had to.

**Fixed**

People- strangers, friends, neighbors- they all say it's going to be okay, that everything will get better. He doesn't believe them.

He wants his mom back. He wants to feel the warmth of her skin as she pulls him close. He wants to remember the ever-fading picture of her in his mind, the color of her eyes, the lines of her face. He wants to be like other families, with sit-down dinners, silly bickering over the television or who didn't pick up their socks.

They say it'll all be okay, but he figures that's pretty easy when it's not you.

**Light**

There were times he could almost see it, the soft light playfully waxing and waning at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel and he dared to hope that he could reach it. Days he would come home and find his father halfway sober (or at least as close to it as he ever got these days), days Earl would remember his football game, Jesse's birthday, days he'd get the notion to clean himself up, to make them a family again.

Days that always ended too soon; cut short with a careless word and a fifth of gin.

**Dark**

It was curious how the only memories of his childhood that came to mind seemed dark, somehow. As if it weren't a memory at all, but a scene from an old badly lit movie. His childhood seemed that way sometimes- as though it hadn't happened to him at all and he'd just seen it all on television somewhere once. Somber clips of dusty rooms full of broken bottles and actors instead of people, their faces obscure in the shadows, clicking away behind his eyelids as if on a projector.

It was supposed to make it easier, but he still ached.

**Shattered**

He's not sure how long it took him to really break, or if it's happened yet. There's been so many cracks already he's not sure how to tell anymore, and he's definitely feeling pretty god damn fragile. But he's spent his life holding things together, and he'll be damned if he lets it show now. So he takes a cue from his father and slugs his beer, letting the alcohol act as a bandage and numb everything just a little, just enough to shake everything off, to clear his head. Just enough to hold it together for a little longer.


	9. Week 9: Jesse

_Where am I today? I wish that I knew_  
><em>'Cause looking around there's no sign of you<em>  
><em>I don't remember one jump or one leap<em>  
><em>Just quiet steps away from your lead<em>

_I'm holding my heart out but clutching it too_  
><em>Feeling this short of a love that we once knew<em>  
><em>I'm calling this home when it's not even close<em>  
><em>Playing the role with nerves left exposed<em>

_Parachute - Cheryl Cole_

* * *

><p><strong>Week Nine: Jesse Kinsella<strong>

**Rebirth **

He was tired of the talk that followed he and his brother in hushed whispers along the sidewalks, of the pitied looks when their father climbed atop the hardware store, of the knowing looks when he pulled up a chair at the bar. He was Crazy Earl's boy, poor thing. It was more than he could handle, even under his brother's protective arm.

He enlisted because he needed a way out, and he knew if he had the slightest choice and looked back for even a second, he would never be able to leave. He needed to leave to survive.

**Scars**

It's a nervous habit, tracing the scar along his forearm- an old trophy not from the army, but from his childhood when he fell on glass from a broken bottle. He remembers a twelve year old Wade patching him up as best he could while a drunken Earl gasped and fled the house in guilt, and his chest tightens. His childhood memories assault him then, and he presses hard against his scar, gritting his teeth and trying to bring himself back to reality.

It might have been nasty at the time, but the scars that hurt most, you can't see.

**Disease**

He's had more than one girlfriend complain about his drinking- and he finds this ironic, because really, if they met his family… He stops himself there, feeling guilty for the thought. He's never been a drinker like his father or brother, but what he doesn't admit is that sometimes he craves it, sharp and cool against his throat, craves the way it makes everything lighter, the way it can take everything away, and make him forget, and he hates it. Hates its seductive appeal, hates it for being the easy way out, hates it for the sake of his childhood.

**Agony**

He finds himself a frequent part of other families, visiting friends on holidays fitting easily into the dynamic. He makes conversation over the potatoes, cracks a joke along with his beer, and wonders if they can tell he's pretending he knows what it's like to be a part of this. He thinks of his own family, and what they could have had makes his heart drop into his shoes. He starts to dial Wade's number- after all, it's Christmas- but then he remembers that he left, that Wade hasn't forgiven him, and that they're just not 'the Kinsella boys' anymore.

**Healing**

He thought of his mother sometimes, felt guilty for his fading memory of her, and clung to the stories Wade used to tell about her, trying to memorize every detail. He wondered what she'd think of her family now, and it was that thought that dared him to return to Bluebell, to hope.

But nothing had changed. Wade was still angry, betrayed, and though his father seemed eager to try, the smell of liquor lingering on his breath was too familiar, and he felt claustrophobic. He wondered if they were too far gone, too broken, too messy to ever heal.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews make me smile. :)<em>


	10. Week 10: Kinsellas

**Week Ten: Kinsellas**

**Bell**

Jesse's first bike was a treasure Wade discovered at a yard sale. They'd saved up, pooled their money and took turns trying to ride it home with a flat rear tire. It was a blue girl's bike and Wade, much to Jesse's frustration, took great pleasure in teasing Jesse about the girly bell adorning the handlebar for most of the summer.

The first day back at school, another boy seemed to find it just as funny- but the next day Wade rode to school alongside him, and Jesse noticed the boy had a black eye and nothing more to say.

**Book**

There were nights when Earl kept a clear head, when he wanted to be a family, and he would settle onto the couch with his boys and pull out a book, old and worn with dog-eared pages, and he'd read until they'd both nodded off and carry them each off to bed. Even in the joy of these quiet evenings, he had to bite back his bitterness, his anger that he wasn't a better father to them. They deserved better than him, and he wanted so badly to give it. His failures haunted him, and he reached for another drink.

**Candle**

They lost power a lot, either because their house was set away from the rest of the town, or because Earl had forgotten to pay the light bill. It had almost become a kind of game for them, really- Wade was in charge of the candles and matches because he was older, and Jesse gathered whatever snacks he could find. They'd build a tent out of blankets, chairs and whatever else seemed useful on their bedroom floor, crawl inside and make shadow puppets and tell stories with a flashlight late into the night, until they eventually drifted off to sleep.

**Bowl**

When Wade was around, it meant Jesse wasn't far behind. Townsfolk frequently joked that the brothers were a two-for-one deal. The town librarian was always pleased to see them, despite Wade's lack of library etiquette. She particularly loved Jesse, who happily joined the children's summer reading programs despite Wade's teasing. However, should Jesse ever win a prize- typically a free pass to the local bowling alley- she was always sure to slip a second in for the older boy. For all his sass, it was him who walked his little brother over to the library once a week, after all.

**Blade**

He was late. Typically he was in too deep to remember a Little League game at all, so he was already doing better than usual just by showing up. From across the street, he couldn't make out Wade's shape anywhere on the field. It wasn't until he made the gate entrance he saw caught sight of both his boys on the sidelines, little Jesse red-faced with wet cheeks, but smiling as a uniformed Wade entertained him by making silly noises with a blade of grass.

Guilt weighed heavily in his chest, and he couldn't bring himself to move any closer.


End file.
